


The Pupil

by xxx_mlggamer_xxx



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crappy Tutor AU, Gen, no capes AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_mlggamer_xxx/pseuds/xxx_mlggamer_xxx
Summary: “It was [unsurprisingly] The Butler who answered the door, and, ironically [or, rather, incidentally] it was a dark and stormy night.”Damian needs a tutor. Luckily Tim Drake, who lived in the manor-next-door and the apparent neighborhood geek, needs a job.





	The Pupil

It was [unsurprisingly] The Butler who answered the door, and, ironically [or, rather, incidentally] it was a dark and stormy night.

          The Butler, who introduced himself as Alfred Pennyworth, ushered him in, took his coat, and offered him a seat by the fire in the sitting room. Although said fire was blazing with purpose, the room was otherwise empty. Had he not spent the last seventeen years of his life growing up in a manor with similarly empty halls and cavernous rooms, he would have been intimidated by the sitting room _alone_.

          Mr. Pennyworth, who insisted on being called Alfred, offered Tim some tea and a tray of biscuits before excusing himself, leaving with the assurance that “Master Richard will be down shortly”.

          Master _Richard_. It had been a bit of a surprise when Richard was the one who had called him with the Proposition in the first place, and not the man of the house, Bruce Wayne. Tim had to shoulder his disappointment, and, to be honest, it wasn’t too difficult, what with the thunder and the rain and the buzz in his head regarding the circumstances already occupying most of his thoughts.

          [Objectively] The wait for Richard wasn’t a very long one. But the nerves [and the ticking clock on the mantle] made the few minutes that passed feel like a lifetime.

          Then, there was a pounding of feet – nothing like the controlled and calculated steps of The Butler, Tim’s parents, or even Tim himself – and a wild-haired Richard Grayson practically slid into the sitting room. Tim, remembering the manners taught to him by his own mother [with the help of his childhood nanny who had long since been fired for her expiring uselessness], stood on his arrival, and offered his hand.

“Tim Drake, we uh… spoke on the phone?”

Richard’s grip was strong, but not controlling like the business executives Tim had met in the past, and his smile was easy. “Richard Grayson, call me Dick. Have a seat?”

As Tim settled back onto the couch where he had previously been sitting, hands on his knees, Dick fell back, cross-legged, into another chair. He gripped his feet with his hands, and Tim couldn’t help but notice that they were donned with superman socks. Before Tim could open his mouth, Dick called into the hallway:  
          “Damian, how about you go find Alfred the Cat? I’m sure Tim would love to meet him.”

There was an inaudible response – half grumbled, half snarled – and footsteps stomped away from where they must have been hiding behind a well-placed wall. Perfect for snooping. Tim would know, he had his own share of memories spying on his parents’ meetings with potential staff. He hadn’t even noticed the kid was there. Huh. _So, that’s how that felt_.

“So, Tim, I’m really glad you responded. Dami _needs_ a tutor, no matter what he thinks. I’m sure you’re aware of his… situation?”

Tim was unabashed in his nodding – everyone knew about the Wayne Family [whether they made it their business to or not]. Damian Wayne, born out of wedlock as he may be, was the first [officially declared] biological offspring of the infamous Bruce Wayne. Raised by His mother, was a mysterious and powerful woman [who must be so surely beautiful and terrifying because Wayne abstained from revealing her name or her family’s name] for eleven years before suddenly appearing in Gotham. Which effectively subjected to the Wayne Family – which had been, up to the reveal of Damian, a patchwork of orphans – to what had to be Hell on Earth, what with the constant pestering and questioning by the press [led by none other than Vicki Vale] regarding Damian’s past and the status of Dick’s inheritance going forward.

“So then you probably know that Damian hasn’t has a lot of… formal education, for someone his age. Before he goes to Middle School we’d love to get him…” The pauses were in a way so formal and yet so hesitant that they both worked to mask and reveal Dick’s less than glamorous past under a completely different spotlight. “… acclimated. We just want to help the kid a little before sending him out in the real world.”

[Or, as real as a child of a billionaire’s world can be. Dick Grayson would know that paradox better than anyone.]

But Tim nodded along, explaining his own curriculum plans of English, U.S. History, Math, and Science, as Dick interjected with his own [easily answered] questions. He was prepared for most of the interview, as was Tim’s nature, but there was one aspect of this discussion that Tim was not looking forward to.

The notion of payment.

          While Tim was in line for a small fortune of his own, and he had all the pocket change he could hope for, Tim wanted something he could call his own – and not a gift or a loan from his father like his home, his education, and his life. Having money of his own accord – not just allowances and trust funds – was an alluring call that Steph, Kon, and Bart didn’t quite understand. To them, having money was as simple as having money, and that was good enough, and surely Tim was just being weird or pretentious [or both] about the whole thing. Maybe he was.

          Either way, how did he expect Dick Grayson, the epitome of rags to riches, to understand? How could he ask about money without sounding like even more of a greedy bastard than he felt?

          Just as he was about to work up the smallest of casual comments – a simple “so, about compensation?” was much more difficult to spit out than Tim could ever imagine – Damian stepped into the room.

          “I could not find the Cat, Grayson,” His hands were empty, as if to prove it. But as he spoke [his voice accented in a way Tim couldn’t immediately recognize, but it certainly wasn’t Gotham], he looked directly at Tim, not even sparing a glance at his brother. His gaze was intense – he had the same piercing glare as Bruce Wayne at his worst [or at least at his most hungover] as he slowly looked Tim up and down. His nose what upturned in what had to be a practiced arrogance.

          Even at Eleven, the similarities between the boy and his father were alarmingly evident. Surely, he was as much of a hidden genius as the Big Man himself. Tim shuddered at the thought that Damian very well may be cleverer than Tim himself, even while being six years his younger.

          There was an uncomfortable and distinct silence. Tim couldn’t help but fidget, but Dick was easily one thousand times worse. The man’s eyes darted back and forth between Tim and Damian, his fingers drumming against his feet frantically. He settled for sending Damian a pointed look, who returned it with crumpled eyebrows and a hard-lined frown. Tim sat, observing all this, until Dick finally sighed and fell against the back of his chair.

          “ _Fine_. Sit down, D, we’re just about done anyway. Tim,” He looked at him with a convincing set of puppy dog eyes that would not normally be so effective from someone his age. “You don’t mind, do you?”  
          Tim did mind, thank you very much, but he wasn’t about to say so. “Not at all, I’m – “  
          “Timothy Drake, I know.” The way Damian said ‘ _I know’_ gave Tim chills. As if the child knew about more than just his name. Dick rolled his eyes, taking off one of his socks and throwing it at Damian as a sort of punishment [??] . The younger boy regarded it with disdain, dropping on the floor and mumbling something about how _‘unprofessional and childish’_ Dick was being before addressing Tim again.

          “Damian Wayne, though I expect you are already aware of the fact.”

          Dick almost facepalmed; his right hand had to grab his left as if to physically restrain it form smacking his forehead on its own accord.

          “Ignore him, he’s just trying to sound tough. He’s really a sweet kid.” Dick didn’t acknowledge Damian’s indignant squawk. “Anyway, you were saying? Earlier, I mean.”  
          Tim just managed to squeeze it out. _Like tearing off a Band-Aid_. “About my pay…”  
          But, even as Damian’s ensuing scowl seemed to scorn him for even thinking about getting paid for his services, Dick’s eyes lit up in realization. Rather than leaping into another conversation [which is what Tim expected], he waved a dismissive hand with the gracious reply of “Oh, don’t worry about all that, It’ll be taken care of,”

          _What does that mean?_ Tim wanted to shout, but didn’t because keeping a good relationship with the Wayne boys was _incredibly_ important. Instead, he let himself be given an umbrella for his troubles and pushed out the door by Alfred with a crowing “Thanks so much! I’ll call you!!” from Dick and a sarcastic drawl from Damian:

          “He seems _great_.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the AP practice test I took the other day in Literature. Seems fitting since the AP Lit test is tomorrow! A Bat-spin on “The Pupil” by Henry James, an excerpt of which is provided on the 2004 AP Literature and Composition Test. Essay 2.


End file.
